


Nothing Like a Good Plan

by LemonKith



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Animated Series
Genre: M/M, Prompt: Pining/Crush, Riddlebird Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-21 12:47:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14915657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LemonKith/pseuds/LemonKith
Summary: Edward has a crush but none of the social know-how to succeed in doing anything about it.Oswald also has a crush but a life situation that someone like Edward must have nothing but contempt for.Neither of them have anything close to a good plan for how solve their problems.





	Nothing Like a Good Plan

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally meant to be a double character study and then all this plot happened. This whole thing was written over the past three days while I haven’t been feeling great so that’s my excuse.  
> This is a oneshot totally disconnected from all my other Batman fics.
> 
> Both main characters are a nebulous amalgamation of various comics and the animated series.

Edward was Gotham’s smartest man. That didn’t need to be discussed. (Probably beyond Gotham too. But as was said, that didn’t need to be discussed) 

For all he was smart, for all he was intelligent though, what might be called ‘social intelligence’ escaped him. What to say, when to say it, who to say it to and, more often in all cases, not were never things he quite got.

That wasn’t his fault, nor a flaw of his. It was all those non-autistic people with their stupid social rules and conventions that made no logical sense and they never bothered to explain or codify anywhere. How anyone was meant to abide by all that, or more importantly why, was beyond him.

The irritating end result that he would never admit was that people rarely both liked and respected him, if even one of those. Most of the brainless worms that comprised the civilians of the city and his hired help respected him, but they certainly didn’t like him. His friends did like him, but the jokes they made about his riddles or outfits, or so on annoyingly, showed they obviously didn’t respect him.

But Oswald... Somehow everyone both liked _and_ respected him.

Watching him ingratiate, subtly manipulate, and never once hesitate from across the Iceberg Lounge was a better education than reading Machiavelli’s _The Prince_ had ever been – And yes, Edward had done that. What? It was supposed to be exactly about these sorts of things – Oswald surpassed Machiavelli; feared and loved, both despite being a reformed criminal now.

Yes, Edward had a handicap as fair excuse, but it wasn’t as if Oswald didn’t have plenty too: He was physically deformed, highly idiosyncratic, blatantly anachronistic and more. Yet why didn’t it stop _him_?

Edward liked a puzzle. He wouldn’t admit it but he loved anything he found himself learning from.

He hated that he couldn’t solve this or learn a damn thing from it.

He hated Oswald.

But, man, did he want to fuck him.

The ridiculous sexual tension made sense: The heightened emotions and value of trust in their line of work, the fact you needed to be a high calibre of confident, self-assured individual to get ahead in it, often with a good dose of charisma and style too. There weren’t many people who got the lifestyle, who got the appeal of things like murder or planning a perfect museum heist, who had once literally had your back in two versus ten close combat fight and hadn’t let it suffer a single scratch. It made sense, but it was still ridiculous.

And the worse thing the Riddler couldn’t riddle out was if it was even reciprocated or not. How couldn’t Oswald also want someone as dashing, intelligent and desirable as Edward? All those ridiculous but inescapable facts also went the other way just as easily. But also how could he when Edward had never seen a single sign of it, when Oswald’s greatest strength was Edward’s worst weakness? Maybe if Oswald had lacked in basic intelligence to even things out- But no, Edward wouldn’t have been interested in him then, and Oswald certainly _was_ intelligent, in that highest category other people could fall into that Edward picked his friends from.

He was a friend; Edward didn’t actually hate him, was simply jealous and hated being jealous or feeling inferior in any way. It wasn’t the same as hating Oswald himself even if the burning, consuming feeling felt rather comparable at times.

Edward sighed. If he tried to broach this it would only inevitably lead to having to admit a weakness on his part at some point, if not in the social matters he struggled with then tacitly by needing to ask how Oswald felt about him instead of being able to solve that for himself. And the Riddler did not admit weaknesses. So many fools didn’t understand how one could have both weaknesses and yet still be a perfect genius that it was simpler just to spare their simple minds the trouble.

Neither would they understand his attraction to Oswald, how some humans were more just than animals that had somehow mastered bipedal locomotion and were thus interested in partners for personality and intelligence instead of something as crass as physical appearance. Not that it mattered they understood, but Edward still didn’t want to put up with all the inevitable comments and oh-so-not-funny jokes they’d make. (None of which was to say he didn’t find Oswald physically attractive. The man managed to walk a line between cute and deadly gorgeously, all that pale, soft chubbiness right beside such darkly styled grace. He was exquisite, and sometimes Edward was almost glad he was the only one who seemed to see that)

No, nothing to be done about it then. Besides, with the danger of this line of work, the fact Oswald was technically reformed and all that law-abiding façade while Edward was technically still ‘criminally insane’ and all that absurdity, the slightly noticeable age difference and much more noticeable culture difference...

No, it was best if nothing was done about it...

~#~

Oswald didn’t understand it.

Jervis would have made more sense. They were the only two Brits among a sea of Yanks, had so many antique and eclectic media favourites in common, both considered a good conversation over a fine drink or cup of tea one of the most superlative ways to spend their time, even had matching choice in headwear and that was all setting aside the fact Oswald would be the taller one of all things were he to take up with Jervis of all people.

Selina would have made more sense. Their shared taste in high culture, and often the less than proper acquisition of it, of spending time in high society but happily on the revered, whispered about fringes due to their reputations, her fondness for felines and his affection for avians- Well, all right, perhaps that part wouldn’t have gone so well but they both held a partiality towards animals was the point. Everyone desired her, and Oswald wasn’t blind to why.

Even Jonathan would have made more sense, as bizarre as it would sound to an outsider. Despite initial hostilities, as two of Gotham’s earliest rogues they had had many encounters behind-the-scenes; Jonathan would take on chemistry-related contracts Oswald played intermediary on, had gifted Oswald his gas-spraying umbrella and kept him in the cartridges of various concoctions it employed as a measure of good will. In return, even now he was ‘legitimate’ Oswald would find any means to procure whatever chemicals Jonathan required if he could pay and fence any items of value in return. Jonathan had even given him full medical assistance when badly injured one time, although for fair compensation after-the-fact, and the experience had been one of the most pleasant times for Oswald in years, just the plain domesticity of recuperating while Jonathan quietly did his research in the other room each day.

But no. It was Edward of all people. Who loved video games and children’s puzzles instead of a good book or night out at the cinema, who came from- Well, he was loath to use such a pejorative but ‘white trash’ described what he’d heard of that brutish father and the life he’d raised Edward in aptly. He refused to drink alcohol, loudly and continually scorning those who did, considered conversation simply for the sake of a frivolous squandering of his precious time and never had anything but contempt for the citizens of Gotham, particularly those of wealth or standing it often appeared; what could he ever think of a man who dedicated his life to the administration of an establishment such as the Iceberg Lounge of all things? And Oswald considered himself intelligent enough but he made no pretensions that he was anything exceptional in that area. No, all he was capable at extended to the realm of the social, and Edward never showed anything but utter disdainful contempt for that with his frankly blunt and deliberate avoidance of such matters.

What must Edward think of a man who spent his time twittering away like the bird he was with people he didn’t even like or respect? Oh, they might have felt that way about him, or likely just feigned so in many cases, but Oswald found them all _so_ tedious. There was a reason he had been a criminal, beyond simply the potential gains, one such subservient, simpering sheep never understood – They wouldn’t even dare to go against this season’s fashions, let alone society itself.

His friends amongst the rogues were just about the only people Oswald both liked and respected. They understood, they were clever and funny company; they may have treated him a bit like group-dad, or even mom, but at least they understood. Their companionship was sadly sporadic however, too often behind bars of a wholly different kind to that which furnished the Iceberg Lounge. So he made do, with lesser minds and tedious bores, for the sake of a profit to live on. His clientele were both excruciatingly easy and painfully vapid; when you’d spent years negotiating with mafia dons or gang leaders that talked to you through ventriloquist dummies, conversations that could cost your neck if you selected just one poor word or timing of a sideways glance, the patrons of the Lounge were child’s play. A terribly tedious torture.

Oswald sighed. He made no pretensions about his appearance either, and for all Edward was perhaps somewhat unconventional being ginger, befreckled and generally scrawny, he made them work in a way that was utterly beautiful. Model-level beautiful even. Though appearance shouldn’t count, it did. He didn’t want to hear those whispered words, the stifled sniggers, that someone like _him_ thought it admissible to make overtures to someone like _that_.

No, it wasn’t the done thing. The covertness that need to be top priority in their every meeting, being on two different sides of the law that he would be far too tempted to cross back to his old ways, how often he would only be in the way of Edward’s great schemes and ambitions with so little too offer in return, only to be the mate of a _penguin_ of all things, stuck out in the cold and desolate wastelands with him...

No, it just wouldn’t be the done thing...

~#~

Edward really only had come by to partake of the late-night catering the Iceberg Lounge offered – He did try to keep properly stocked but sometimes a genius had more important things to do than remember to go out and buy fresh vegetables and milk, and he was neither in the mood for paying some henchfolk who would invariably mess up the simple task or else kill a delivery boy for some take-out that would only be uncomfortably greasy and unhealthy anyway – So no, when he did overwork and really couldn’t be bothered to go out for fresh groceries at 10pm he would favour the light snack bar at the Lounge with his custom instead.

Turning around, a plate newly loaded with salad and two halves of the best grilled tuna-melt that could be found in Gotham in hand, he spied across the near-empty Wednesday room a rather miserable-looking Oswald at one of his own bars, stirring some concoction which probably had enough alcohol in it to be as hard as a brick.

“Problem?” Edward asked as he took the adjacent seat uninvited, reviewing his playful tone and cursing it had probably come off as if he were gloating. “What’s wrong?” he asked with an easier to hear note of concern.

“Aubrey Tawny-Bassett,” Oswald replied, and a moment later knew he would have to explain, “She recently married into Gotham’s highest social elite, and it’s our newly-minted socialite’s birthday tomorrow.”

“Oh,” Edward frowned but no, he had no memory for news or facts about anyone he considered utterly worthless. “Sounds more like one of those pretentious paint colours.”

Oswald snorted into laughter, covering it quickly with a hand over his mouth. The lifted cheeks of his smirk were still visible however. “If only, my fine friend. I have to go to her party after excusing myself from the last five insipid social occasions I’ve been invited to – Words are beginning to spread sadly – I was hoping to attend with Ms. Kyle, to at least keep the evening tolerable by dint of good company, but alas she truly is unavailable thanks to a bout of influenza.”

“Mm, she made me do her grocery shopping for her on Monday, including a full, good-sized bag of cat food! As if I don’t have better things to do!” Edward protested indignantly. “I thought you enjoyed parties and those sorts of occasions though. What’s wrong? Her money too new? Her signature on your invitation was printed instead of handwritten? Does her house smell?” he guessed more cheekily, then realised he hadn’t even touched his food yet he’d been so engrossed in the conversation.

Oswald gave him another of those ‘Stop making me enjoy this, it’s improper’ smirks and shook his head. “I detest these high class affairs; all people do at them is stand around and talk of the most unimportant things such as where they’re going skiing this year, who’s engaged to whom, how many states they’ve managed to put between themselves and their very own children by sending them away to some ghastly private school – High society was the undoing of my first attempt at turning over a new leaf. At this rate it’ll destroy the second as well...” he lamented, dropping his chin into an awaiting palm.

“Why bother then?” Edward really would never understand all this.

“Business for the Lounge, connections.” Oswald gave a shrug. “I have no one else to socialise with these days.”

“What about us? Too good for Gotham’s gallery of rogues now?”

“Too tempted,” Oswald clarified with that restrained glimmer of mischief in his eyes again. “Given the choice between this dratted party tomorrow and that farce of a ‘Christmas party’ they threw for us while I was interned in dear old Blackgate, I’d be hard-pressed but likely leaning towards Blackgate. At least there they let us play games like pin the tail on the donkey and musical chairs.”

“Those both sound as if they must have ended terribly in a prison.”

“Oh, absolutely! But that was the joy of it; why, I broke at least two noses and dislocated someone’s elbow in the ensuing brawl without even the slightest word or ill look from a guard. Of all the things I’ve dislocated over the years I’d never done an elbow before that,” Oswald smiled far too pleasantly at the memory.

“My, and I suppose blood sports aren’t on the agenda for tomorrow night?”

“If someone so much as knocks over a table at one of these high society deals at least three people will faint from the shock. Besides, it’s not the violence I miss, merely the excitement. Even the socialising; I suppose it’s how you must feel doing those daily crosswords in the newspaper.”

“Hm?” Edward set down his sandwich temporarily, fascinated.

“It’s hardly a very stimulating game compared to the ones I used to engage in,” Oswald explained.

“...Socialising is like a game to you?” Yes... Yes, it made sense actually: Remembering the locations of all the pieces, bearing in mind the objectives of different players, the times one needed to gamble, the rewards of profits and connections at the end...

“A poor one these days but yes.”

“Fascinating. I’d never considered social interaction like that. I knew there are rules, of course, but I hadn’t considered the idea of the fun to be had simply in the playing of them. Although,” Edward had to admit, “I’m not sure it would hold many end rewards for me.”

“It barely holds any for me these days; I look forward to the day the Lounge is established enough that I can simply sit back and let them come to me, rather than this faff tomorrow. I much prefer the genuine conversation and company of people like you, Edward.”

“Like me?” Edward held his sandwich in front of his face without taking a bite. A few seconds later he had his slight blush back under control and could set it down.

“With people like you I can make a joke such as having permanent _Star Trek_ hands,” he held up his flippered hand, the two parts where his two sets of fingers had fused at the ends held up in a Vulcan salute, “and have it be neither considered tasteless for drawing attention to my deformity nor go over the heads of everyone present.”

“You like _Star Trek_?” Retrospectively, Edward wished he done a much less embarrassing job of controlling his excitement.

“To my parents’ great ire as a child; I enjoyed the approval of diversity in it I think, how everyone in the crew was treated the same regardless of how they acted, or looked.” He looked at his own hand again, flexing it a few times. “Not like the circles I run in these days...”

“You really ought to pick a better circle then,” Edward sniffed at the whole idea; surely it was a simple thing? Ditch anyone who didn’t treat you appropriately; your time was worth too much to waste when you were the likes of people like them. He’d survived his childhood that way, his miserably lonely and neglected childhood... Oh. “I always liked hexagons better, or maybe a nice trapezium,” he tried to turn it into a joke but of course it fell flat with just a politely bemused smile from Oswald. “Well, I don’t want you having to spend time with people who can’t appreciate how physically attractive you are any more than you have to, so I...” Edward paused, a finger still raised as his brain finally caught up with the words that had hurried out of his mouth too candidly. He needed a topic change immediately. “I’ll come with you!”

“Even if my notoriety accounts for much of my present popularity,” Oswald was smirking at him, even half a chuckle in his words, “I do believe bringing a currently wanted criminal as my plus one may be a little much, Edward.”

“Well, I’ll come rob the place then,” Edward solved simply.

Oswald pressed his hand to his forehead in a little triangle, but ultimately, “As much as I would inevitably appreciate such an interlude, I don’t believe anything in the honourable hostess’ collection would be of particular interest to you.”

“What does she have?”

“Ms. Tawny-Bassett principally collects what she calls ‘exotic’ object de art, art by native peoples of the Americans, African artworks that passed into private collections during the period of colonialism, a large number of items likely sourced by archaeological looting in southern Europe if what I overhear in the underworld is to be believed,” Oswald related in a rather dry tone that said far and away enough about the lady in question.

Edward clapped his hands together. “Perfect! A chance for a little cultural reappropriation!”

“We’re both white, you do know.”

“Exactly, and that’s precisely why we need to be the ones to enter this predominately white space to _re_ appropriate them to where they actually belong,” Edward elucidated. “It’s _such_ a perfect opportunity: I can arrive and quiz her on the cultures each of her items comes from in front of all her guests. If she answers correctly she will be allowed to keep them, but when she inevitably doesn’t I will only be carrying out fair judgement by removing the items to a more worthy home! And with the cream of Gotham’s elite there I can give them all a thorough lesson in attempting to lay claim to that which they do not understand!” Really, the sheer glee coming off Edward right now ought to have shorted every lights in a twenty foot radius around him.

“A socially conscious thief; good Lord, you’ll give the right-wing media outlets quite the field day with this,” Oswald said.

“Let the man-children throw their tantrums; they’re the ones who keep cutting Arkham’s funding so they truly only have themselves to blame,” Edward dismissed, finishing the last of his sandwich.

Oswald chuckled. “I must admit it sounds like a fine format; oh, the dear disgrace that will be writ large all over her face as she loses each of her precious pieces...” A clear personal dislike shone through in the cruel curl of Oswald’s smile now. “Would you like an inventory of her personal collection? I know a little off-hand but between us I’m sure we can ascertain the rest before tomorrow night.”

“You’re helping?”

“Oh, definitely! If I may, that is.” Always the perfect gentleman of course.

“Absolutely!” Edward shone again.

“Fabulous! What sort of puzzles do you intend to employ? Some sort of quiz, perhaps?”

What sort of...? “Do you want to help make them?!” Edward dared to exclaim, dropping his cutlery to clasp Oswald’s waiting hands.

“Y-You want me to-?” Oswald would have pointed at himself if his hands had been free, or perhaps used them to cover the awful, traitorous blush that had crept onto his cheeks.

“Normally anyone I work with insists my puzzles are only a liability, or worse pointless. It’s _so nice_ to finally have someone else who understands their value in the whole operation!”

“O-Oh. Well, I don’t know if I’m quite smart enough to-”

“Of course you are,” Edward practically scorned. “I’ll confess I am probably quite currently ignorant of the particulars of the cultures we’ll be quizzing our dear, little birthday girl on. But true intelligence isn’t as much what you know as what you can do with it!” Letting go of a hand, he held up one finger to illustrate that point particularly. “And you’re one of the most accomplished individuals in this city, Oswald. I can’t think of anyone better to assist me.”

Edward’s tone really brooked no arguments on that matter. To dissent would be an insult of Edward’s own intelligence he supposed.

So, that being the case, “Where to begin, my fine friend?”

~#~

Aubrey’s party really would have been as tedious as imagined, if Oswald hadn’t been on an ‘assignment’ – Yes, that was what Edward had called it as if he was a teacher assigning homework – that actually made the whole thing terrifically fun.

Their methods of research had turned up a considerable amount of Ms. Tawny-Bassett’s collection but Oswald still know there would be more. More that he was currently seeing in person as he allowed himself to wander through the halls of her mini-mansion, umbrella swinging from his wrist, pretending to be just another gormless partygoer, taking photos and notes of the most impressive items along with many of the other fawning guests who wanted to flatter their host.

Only his weren’t going to Instagram or what-have-you but instead straight to Edward who was researching away fervently in his getaway van outside, perfecting last questions for tonight’s true festivities.

It was so easy to open a window here for the heat, a door there to admire her garden and leave the place to all extents the equivalent of a museum-based library ready for the Riddler and his assistants to walk in and out with whatever they liked.

And here reformed life had seemed so dull. Oswald could get used to it if it meant working the other side of things like this. Playing the game with the partygoers to find out everything Edward needed about the last few items, lulling them all into a false sense of security complimenting the protections in place and allowing Edward to overhear everything necessary to deactivate them through his phone silently on call in his pocket.

He really was going to burst something with restrained laughter by the time the main event began. Thankfully Aubrey only got out a few lines about her immense pleasure and gratitude for everyone being here before she got onto the matter of her presents and- “I believe the definition of a ‘present’ is a gift freely given.” Ah, there he was. “I wonder how much of your precious, little collection truly conforms to that definition. Shall we see?”

Oh, the panic that ensued! The terror as the partygoers realised they were trapped by henchfolk at every door and window! Watching them all quiver and cling to each other like they were no more capable than five-year-olds now – Oswald could see why Jonathan enjoyed this so much.

“Well, happy birthday to our dear Ms. Tawny-Bassett! Congratulations on yet another year of insulting dire ignorance, but let’s see what we can do about that tonight. Let’s begin where we should as Americans with- Ah, ah!” the Riddler tutted, question mark cane catching around Aubrey’s wrist and dragging her back into position at the head of the party. The spotlight she’d placed herself in on the little, elevated stage showed beads of sweat on her brow and she pulled in vain at the grip Edward had on her. Really, all he’d done is leave his cane around her wrist; she had been the one that got it tangled in her ostentatious diamond chain necklace. The microphone she had been speaking into picked up her weak pleas still as she fought to flee. Edward grabbed it, turning it properly to his own mouth. “Now, I noticed that lovely collection of Morriseaus you have. This is how the game is going to work: I’ll ask you a series of questions; for every one that you can answer correctly you get to keep five pieces, just so we keep this quick-”

“I’ll give you them all! Just please-!”

“That’s not how this works,” Edward snapped, sharply pulling his cane down and yanking her arm painfully with it. “I’ll gladly leave you in peace, with all of your _pieces_ , if you play along with my simple little quiz, okay?”

Too scared, she nodded.

No one else was even speaking a word. Oswald was glad for their attention on the stage given the amused smirk he really couldn’t contain anymore.

“Let’s start with an easy one, shall we?” the Riddle began, drawing all attention in the room to him again. “What written language or script did Norval Morriseau use to sign the front of his paintings with his famous ‘Copper Thunderbird’ sobriquet?” He gave her and everyone else in the room a good half a minute of uncomfortable silence before, “No? Well, that’s five. How about this? Can you properly pronounce the name of the indigenous people to which he belonged? They lived all around the Great Lakes, including in much of the modern north-eastern USA,” he prompted, almost a hint by his standard.

After another uncomfortable pause, “...Iroquois?”

“Ten, and they’re a confederacy for the record. For the final six pieces of his work, let’s run with that number: Norval Morriseau was sent to a Catholic residential school at the age of six, like many indigenous people, where he suffered physical and sexual abuse, like many indigenous children. Attendance to one of these government-funded schools where their native culture and language were banned was compulsory for all First Nations children in Canada from 1884 – When was the last one finally shut?”

Another of those deeply uncomfortable silences filled the room.

“I’m afraid the answer is only in 1996.” He made a show of tutting, a click of his fingers heralding the pieces’ removal outside. “Let’s move on to those textiles and masks taken from the Kuba Kingdom.”

And so it continued.

After about ten minutes some of the guests caused a fuss, everyone turning at the large sound of one of the larger henchmen hitting the floor due to a lucky punch. A small number of guests managed to squeeze out the double doors he was part-guarding before his partner stepped in. Oswald noted Bruce Wayne running away at the head of escape party, “Typical...” Well, all on script at least.

The commotion offered enough distraction for Oswald to easily push his way through to the front of the crowd and hop up onto the stage himself. He noted Edward put a good look of surprise on his face to sell the act but detangling his cane from Ms. Tawny-Bassett’s arm so quickly rather gave the game away to anyone with half a brain considering what was about to come next.

“Well, well,” Edward greeted him. “Oswald, it feels as if we haven’t seen each other in a year, or was it nine months with good behaviour? I truly believed your promises of reform this time, and now here we are, looting the same crime scene.”

Oswald narrowed his eyes not to push it with the insinuations. “Please, _Riddler_.” He twisted the handle of his umbrella, unsheathing the straight sabre inside. “Some of us can actually manage to stick at it when we reform.” The tip of the sabre lifted into ready position pointed at Edward, providing no mistake what Oswald’s intention was.

He didn’t miss the twitch of irritation about Edward’s own failed reform but duels between true gentlemen began long before swords were drawn. Edward also did so now, pulling the concealed blade out of his cane with the far-from-ominous, “What’s black, white and soon to be red all over?” and holding the other arm with the ‘scabbard’ out behind him in posture.

“I’m already wearing red, you berk,” Oswald took pains to point out, gesturing the best he could without losing his proper stance at the crimson curling down the lapels of his suit jacket.

Of course Edward had planned that so he could get the first strike in unfairly, setting Oswald on the back foot for the start of their duel.

The audience shrieked and gasped, hurrying back from the stage – But not so far they couldn’t get good footage on their phones – The birthday girl herself leapt from the stage so roughly the heel of one of her shoes snapped clean off, leaving her limping away to swoon into some frightened, muscle-headed jock’s arms. It was laughable really, every single one of them without a clue of all the afternoons the two had spent doing exactly this for years as the only two rogues that cared for a good, old sword – Well, Oswald was quite sure Edward’s penchant came from their prevalence in video games and the like but still – and needed a sparring buddy.

Every move had been practically developed against one another, the blocks and ripostes putting them in only choreographed danger as they practically danced across the stage, a chance to show off those flashier, normally ineffectual attacks they joyfully took.

Edward walked him back towards the grand piano at one side of stage with a quick flurry, forcing Oswald to leap up backwards onto the stool out of range. “Why, look at that – You’re almost as tall as me for once~!” Edward sing-sung and laughed.

Oswald’s sword went close to his face, knocked aside of that smug grin Edward was wearing with only inches to spare.

The height ought to have given him a little advantage, one Oswald intended to press for the pleasure of seeing Edward’s smile give to an actual need to concentrate for him to keep up, but the whole thing was rendered null anyway when-

Edward gestured to the window something huge and black had just burst through with a very nonchalant hand, turning his sword down to rest the tip in the floor. “He breaks their window for absolutely no reason considering the door is open and _I’m_ considered the criminal?”

“Stop right there, both of you,” Batman said as he drew himself back up, small diamonds of broken glass practically dripping off his cape.

“Me?” Oswald pointed to himself, able to feel a little perspiration growing though even while he delivered the act that, “I was attempting to halt this heinous hoodlum! I’m defending this party!” Batman knew how to fence, would have seen the artifice in their moves, might ask why it had taken Oswald so long to step up onto stage and intervene...

He swallowed as imperceptibly as possible as Batman scrutinised him, eventually judging, “...Oh.” Oswald could have rolled his whole head along with his eyes at the sheer level of trust in this room but at least the ploy had succeeded. “Nygma!” he suddenly barked, throwing a batarang at where Edward had been attempting to slip behind the piano.

Oswald intercepted the batarang easily with his sword, letting it bounce off harmlessly onto the floor. “A, would you stop throwing such dangerous projectiles in my general direction – I still have scars from you, you know – and B, cease attempting to steal my glory!”

“It’s not a competition, Cobblepot!”

“Oh no, then I certainly didn’t hear you and your snot-nosed sidekick utter the words, “Race you to him,” while in pursuit of yours truly once!”

“If you hadn’t run away-” Batman, annoyingly, dropped their conversation for the exact thing it was meant to prevent as he ran at Edward attempting to make a subtle escape again. The two proceeded to run round the piano like some ridiculous _Tom and Jerry_ cartoon until Batman simply opted to dive across. Oswald swung his sword at Edward coming round, Edward yelped and ducked, the sword’s blade severed the stick holding the lid of the piano up and Batman went flying unsuccessfully far to crash completely off the edge of the stage.

Edward popped up on the other side of the piano – Had he crawled under the thing? – while Batman got back up with a groan to come get right up in Oswald’s face. “Not helpful!”

“Oh, excuse me, my dear and violent vigilante! If you hadn’t-!”

The lights cut at that moment.

Both Oswald and Batman dived for Edward in the fresh darkness, Oswald only because he knew Batman would, and ended up crashing to the floor together instead. “What are you doing?! I was closer to him!” Oswald squawked first. “Why didn’t you go cover the exits that you were actually closer to?!”

“Let me up so I can go cover them now!” Batman insisted, struggling off Oswald and, after a moment, diving out of a different closed window for whatever reason he just seemed to love doing that.

Oswald sat up, leaning on his sabre for support. “It’s no easier being the blasted hero with these things...”

~#~

It was approaching midnight when Edward surfaced again, between one moment and the next appearing in Oswald’s office above the Lounge back in civilian clothes. Little good they did if he was attempting to stay inconspicuous, a green shirt and hoodie paired over bright purple jeans, but the whole ensemble was very pleasing on the eye. Or maybe that was just Edward. Oswald coughed and focused hard on the mid-week finances again. “So?”

“One of the little bat-brats managed to intercept the secondary van carrying the larger items. But!” He gestured dramatically at himself, a favourite pastime of his. “Most of the smaller items and all the paintings were with me. I think I might keep one of the Pudlo Pudlat pieces but I’ll deliver the rest to museums and communities that better deserve them.”

No doubt in some form of puzzle box or else via a riddle to their location, but still. “And all of the hired help satisfied?”

“Aside from the two taken in with the other van, but I’ll be sure to deposit the payment in their accounts anyway ready for when they get out. Thank you for providing the considerable part of that, given neither of us received any form of pay cheque on this one.”

Oswald held up a limp hand, waving the matter off. “After your departure I received a large number of congratulations and invites to further social engagements, so much so that I could afford to become candidly choosy about them. I believe my standing amongst them is safely established now, or else they’ll consider that where I go trouble follows; with this I can afford a more aloof social presence, even wield that as a form of power by scarcity. It wasn’t as if I got nothing from the evening.”

“Did you plan that?” Edward sprawled across his desk from the other side with all the self-absorption of cat sitting right on your keyboard. Oswald even made the correct gesture in response, holding up his open palms powerless in front of him at the cute, little nuisance now all over his work.

“Yes, well,” He settled his hands back on the edge of the desk, giving up on extracting the finances from underneath Edward, “I had no idea it would work so well but I did expect our little, literal sabre-rattling might have some effect of that sort.”

Edward hummed, making an almost soundless ‘wow’ with his mouth, before pulling himself up to literally sit his butt on the finances now. “Still, I really feel I must pay you back for all that somehow...”

He trailed off in a far too open way, letting Oswald’s mind go everywhere it shouldn’t. Oswald coughed again, moving his lap closer to the desk and trying to ignore how that brought him closer to Edward’s lap in the process.

Edward shuffled aside finally as if he had noticed, folding the closer leg over the other. “Perhaps, if you’re free this weekend maybe, we could fit in a little sparring practice, maybe watch a _Star Trek_ episode or two together afterwards?” That was the correct way to invite people to spend casual social time with you, right-? No! No, he’d used the word ‘maybe’ in that sentence twice! He was such an idiot-!

“I’d be more than amenable to that.” After all, if he spent more time with Edward he might finally work out how to become impressive enough in Edward’s eyes to ask him out.

“Good!” After all, if he spent more time with Oswald he might finally be able to learn enough about social interaction to know the correct way to ask him out.

Yes, absolutely nothing like a good plan.

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully someone like Selina found out about their mutual crushes after this and bashed their heads together for being such idiots about the whole thing. Two absolute geniuses who can't come up with a single good plan between them, honestly...
> 
> I have another piece for this pairing, ['No Smoke Without Fire?'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14922989) you can check out too if you enjoyed this.


End file.
